


Love is a garden

by taass64



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:18:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1775527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taass64/pseuds/taass64
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch philosophizes while harvesting.  His train of thought wanders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is a garden

**Author's Note:**

> For Nancy, who challenged me to write this.
> 
> (very, very, very, mildly slashy)

Hutch set the basket on the ground next to him, squinted up at the sun, and adjusted the hat on his head. Silly floppy kaki canvas thing Starsky bought him as a joke but which he actually liked. His grandfather wore one just like it when he tended his garden and it made Hutch smile to think about it. 

The garden, well actually the whole house idea, had been Starsky’s. They’d been living together so Hutch could take care of him as he recuperated from the shooting. Once they’d decided to make it a more permanent arrangement a house made sense. The garden idea, Hutch later realized, was Starsky’s way of giving back to Hutch, giving him peace for all the stress and work taking care of him the last year. 

Hutch fingered the ground around a thick cluster of onion stems, approximating the size of the onion hidden below. Satisfied it was roughly the right diameter he dug it up, cleaned off the soil and smelled it. His grandfather used to tell him onions represented good health (that and boiling one in milk with black pepper would cure you if you weren’t healthy). He put the onion in the basket and thought how grateful he was Starsky was finally healthy.

The lettuce was thick and green with beautiful hand sized leaves. Unfortunately, they grew every which way instead of conforming to the heads they should be. Well, Hutch thought, kind of like me and Starsk, we don’t really conform to normal either. Few people really understand what we are to each other. He pulled up a handful of leaves and placed them in the basket. 

He stood and walked over to the cucumbers. After selecting one the right size for a salad for two, he twisted it off the vine. Gently, he used his palm to rub off the burrs, leaving behind a soft, smooth skin. Hutch thought how lucky they were most of their prickly problems had be gradually rubbed away. Things were smooth for them now. And he added the cuke to the basket.

He made his way over to the tomato plants. Tomatoes, of course, always made him think of Starsky’s “striped tomato.” He teased Starsky relentlessly over the years about that car, but deep down, he loved her, too. Since the shooting she was no longer in police service, but Merle had fixed her up and he would never take for granted Starsky was able to drive her again. He pulled a big beefsteak tomato off a plant and added it to the basket.

A few rows over he squatted to feel around for a carrot. Like with the onions, he fingered the soil until he found one roughly the right size for the salad. He pulled it up and cleaned off the soil with his fingers. As he examined the carrot he thought of what it so obviously represented. He began laughing out loud to himself, thinking how his thought train was running today, from philosophical to…. well….  
Suddenly he realized Starsky was standing right behind him.

“Cha doin’ Hutch, sittin’ here laughing to yourself in the carrot patch?” he asked.

“Just thinking love and salad, Starsk.”


End file.
